LONG SHOT
by jennii.b
Summary: With the daily mail delivery comes an opportunity for Bear to take a leap of faith... and for Walt to show support for his friend. And maybe get a little revenge for Katy's long-standing "favorite uncle" relationship as well! (Based as much on the original books by Craig Johnson. Good-natured ribbing, maybe the tiniest bit of language, and familial relationships...ENJOY!)
1. BABY ANNOUNCEMENTS

A tribute to the creative genius of Craig Johnson…

Your characters sing to me of the smartass, acerbic, loving people inside my real world.

Your communities are our communities,

The daughter of military & law enforcement men and women the world over.

Kudos, brother.

And more stories, please!

… - - - … - - - …

"Walt."

There was a pregnant pause.

"Twenty-three years ago I became involved with a young woman."

"Hell, Bear, twenty-three minutes ago you became inv-"

"This one bore me a child."

… - - - … - - - …

I took the two seconds I needed to digest that announcement.

"How long you know about it?"

"That twenty-three minutes response of yours is actually an acute assessment."

"How'd ya find out?"

Bear took an envelope out of his back pocket. It looked like a regular ole' harmless Hallmark card envelope, a little ragged at the edge where Bear had peeled up a corner to get into it—not too ragged, though, because that's how he was. It was red and had been folded in half once against the weight and heft of the cardstock inside so that it would fit in his pocket.

"The mail ran."

I took the extended envelope. I could feel something in it. Something beyond the expected card.

As I examined the neat, feminine but practical writing across the front I paused to look up at him. "Any reason for me to be careful handling this?" I asked.

The Bear shook his head.

I took note of the writing again. It was to his personal address. Rather than the business.

"Mailman bring it all in here?"

"He does—unless I am not here. Then he leaves personal mail at my home."

I pursed my lips. Took in the Laramie, WY postmark. The "forever" stamp—one of the old ones from before they started going up every year six or seven years ago. The handwriting caught my eye again. Her letters—"her" because I'd decided this was from Bear's erstwhile paramour—were a freestyle mix. Some uppercase, some lowercase, even at the beginning of the names and locations. Some printed, some looped in a bastardization of cursive. The effect was artistic and easy—not an affectation on the premise of being artistic. Probably a rolling ball pen—dark blue by my estimation based on how it appeared on the dark red of the card.

"Keep going," he sighed.

I nodded and slid the now-bend card from its carrying case. A soft blue card slid out. Perched on the cover were two large butterflies—one in red, one orange—with a smaller white one down near the corner.

"Good God," I breathed as I read the cheery "Happy Father's Day!" embossed near the top.

"This is _exactly_ how I felt-" he checked his watch. "Twenty-four-and-a-half minutes ago."

I flipped the card open. Inside the handwriting continued. I'd been right. Classic navy blue ink, the trails the words left indicating the free-flowing ink of the rolling ball tip. Probably medium-fine. I'd say 0.7mm.

'_Surprise…'_ she began. Her handwriting changed throughout the page. It was smaller here—she must have known she had a lot to say and written to save space. It also seemed to reflect her mood. Sometimes the words and letters appeared even. Others ran together or her penmanship slipped into more of a lacey scrawl. I could see the indentations of her words in a couple places. She'd felt a lot as she wrote that missive. As she should.

'_…or maybe I should say "It's a girl!" and send you balloons. This is probably the hardest thing I've ever done. You were kept out of a secret a long time ago. Race & nationality played a role in it. As did pride. And apparently the fact that you're free & loose with how you give your love._

_ 'Once upon a time you met a young woman. From what I gathered in her journals she worked for you for a brief time—sang in your bar, danced your native dances, and ran your taps. I've looked up your establishment. Your website hasn't been updated since it was uploaded. You had 1,700 hits when I checked. It looked like a good place._

_ 'My mother was too young for you. (I've gotten hold of your records, too. I apologize, but it's what I do.)…'_

"Hmph," I grunted.

"Where are you?"

My thick, weathered finger stabbed the sentence that had caught my curiosity.

"It is interesting, is it not. She reveals some hidden truths about herself throughout."

I went back to reading.

_ '…it's what I do.) She seemed to have gone to a lot of trouble to be someone she wasn't; to get away from that which she was. Apparently my grandparents argued. He was Irish & came out with the railroad. She was half Crow. I don't know what the other half was. Being around you inspired her to seek out her own bloodlines. I have those documents. It never reached the point of her joining the tribe or learning more about the People. I don't know any more about being an Indian than most folks who watch the Macy's Parade at Thanksgiving—Just enough to know that there's a lot of history I don't understand.'_

"She's a respectful little thing," I murmured. I kind of liked her writing style. Plain spoken but beautiful. Honest and harsh. Like a cactus out west with flower petals so soft they feel like silk—and spines that'll kill a man.

"Yes."

"And she uses the right terminology. Capitalized 'People' as she should."

"I have noticed this, too."

"Both of us have a lot of respect for people willing to admit their ignorance."

"Yes." His voice was pretty broken, so I went back to reading.

_ '…I don't understand._

_ 'This is a lot for you to take in. I can appreciate that. And it may or may not be something you want to pursue or share. I can understand that, too, to a point. I'm not asking for anything. I don't need anything. But I never had any real concept of having a father out there somewhere. (The line of "uncles" in my life doesn't count.) And the man she'd told me was my father—the man whose name I grew up with—was a blonde, blue-eyed oompa-loompa. Now I know why he hated me.'_

A chuckle escaped. It turned into a harsh sound in my throat.

"Where?" Bear asked.

I pointed again. He nodded.

"Wanna go get 'im?"

"Wait."

I went back to reading. His voice sounded like there was something coming that would play in.

_'…me. But then, as beautiful as my mother was, when a woman bears you a full-term-sized baby at seven months you oughta be smart enough to ask questions. Her Native bloodline doesn't show much. She was exotic looking, but not necessarily strong-featured. So gorgeous she got away with it when I had the wrong cheekbones, the wrong brow, and hair that lent itself far more to black than to her brunette. Stupidity is its own reward, though._

_ 'If you're interested I'll forward you her journals. I can send you the research she commissioned regarding her own heritage. I think the totem should be enough to jog your memory. Your craftsmanship, assuming you were the one who carved it, is unique and masterful. It is both ethereal and earthly and I love it. I'd like to have it back, after you've examined it, to keep in memory of a time when she was happy. _

_ 'Because you made her happy._

_ 'Believe me, it was quite the accomplishment._

_ 'And I believe that it isn't a fantasy she created, some truck stop souvenir she picked up. I hope deep in my heart that she didn't lie about this, too. I've put a great deal of effort into tracking her via these journals. And tracking you, too. I'm not foolish enough to think that we can pick up immediately. I'm not looking for a daddy . But I am interested in pursuing a kinship with you._

_ 'I'd never force myself on you or make demands. If you'd rather I disappear again I'll do so._

_ 'I would like my talisman back. And I'd like whatever documentation you have on your line. Someday I'd like to have children of my own. I'd like them to know their heritage, even if they, too, choose not to align themselves with any given tribe._

_ 'I am trying—desperately—to deal with my anger towards her. She robbed me of all those years when I could have made cards and paperweights and dust catchers in elementary school, even if you turn out to be an unmitigated bastard. If you were a nice man, perhaps she robbed me of weekend visits, pictures from your beautiful town. Even a selfish father might have told me some half-truth stories of his time in the service. A caring one might have been there to cheer for me at the finish line and play one-on-one after work. I might have had grandparents. Someone to do Band-Aids and kisses._

_ 'So I'm dealing—with various successes—with forgiving her after the fact._

_ 'And maybe she did try to call you, try to tell you, and the result was unfavorable. Or maybe it's not you. Maybe you were the one she decided to choose._

_ 'Whatever answers you can provide would be most welcome. I've included my contact information. If you are interested in further verification I can arrange to have clinical proof in the form of blood work or fingerprints done at a clinic of your choosing and forwarded to you at my expense._

_ 'I have such hope in my heart that you and I can be at least friends someday._

_ 'Amber Jade O'Toole.'_

"My parents would have very much loved a granddaughter," he said quietly, angrily, when I glanced up at him. I skimmed down the letter again. "She played something—played some sport. Something that I was never there to pick her up from practice for. Something I never watched her compete in."

"Or it could be a hoax."

"It is not a hoax," he said thickly. He reached again for the envelope, whose disproportionate weight I'd forgotten as I read her message. He tipped it, cupping his hand to catch the sliver of bone that slid out.

It was shaped like an arrowhead, beautifully finished in the traditional shape & manner for spear hunting. And in even more minute detail was a vista of a waterfall, then a meadow, then roses tangling. He ran his thumb over the fine lines. I reached for it, remembering the piece, and flipped it over. His love was spelled out in his own beautiful script according to the promises made by his people in their language.

"Sweet Jesus," I whistled.

"I know who it was that I carved this for and begged forever from."

" 'The tree has grown in my chest…'" I quoted the poem from Ezra Pound.

He groaned at my choice.

"Damn, Bear. I don't know what to say."

"You will notice how cautious she is."

My eyebrows raised.

"She never names her mother. Only that she worked in my employ. Gives only a post office box, a generic email address, and the cell phone number."

"Did you call?"

"I did. I will call again. And again. And again and again and again as many times as it takes."

"I'll run 'er. See what I can come up with."

"Laramie is so close," he whispered, rubbing his chest.

I stuck out my hand. "Anything I can do," I assured him.

He nodded. "I have a daughter, Walt. A precious daughter. I will not be a friend to her. I will-"

"You will contact her, being as cautious as she's been. And you will ask her for not only the paperwork from the tribal council that her mother generated, which is what I know you want, but for her birth certificate, social, and driver's license numbers. Then you will let me do what I do. Do you hear me?"

He smiled. His old smile. "I hear you, Sheriff. But you will find that these things are unimportant."

He started to turn, stuffing the envelope back into his pocket. The necklace was still in his hand. This I watched him loop around his own neck.

"She is accomplished, this daughter. My Amber. My ho'honáhke."

I smiled at him. The man was smitten already. I would have expected nothing less of a child of his own he'd expected. And I aimed to keep this woman from breaking his heart.

He was reading my mind.

"I will have care, my friend."

"I'll just back you up, all the same. You get me those numbers."


	2. PHONE CALLS

Henry Standing Bear reached for his phone even as it rang.

"I have waited for you," he spoke in his deep voice made even throatier by the emotion it contained. "My whole life I have waited without knowing. My whole heart filled today with your greeting."

Walt Longmire turned around where he'd been about to push open the door. When his friend turned his back on him and went toward the small office in the back he nodded to himself and let himself out, flipping the sign from OPEN to CLO ED as he went.

He recited the number and web address she'd provided as he went, jotting them down on the notepad in his truck. He'd start with those.

"I wasn't sure," the young voice said in response.

"That was immediately apparent," he noted. "And, had I been the kind of man who shied away from his family, his past, or his responsibility, I would have appreciated that. I'd like to return your mother's gift. Should I mail it or should I meet you?"

She laughed. "You don't even know where I am."

"A parent cannot go too great a distance to reach a child," he smiled. He relaxed. "I like your voice. I liked your words when they were on paper, but I read them with her voice in my head. I like yours more."

"Yours, too. It's comforting."

"Tell me how you got my records."

"I work for the Department of the Interior. I found my birth certificate and was gratified to find that the Standing Bear clan is not so huge as to be impossible to sift through. I had her journals, so I knew your birthdate and hometown. I made a phone call and spoke to the census clerk. Do you mind?"

"I do not. I have very little to hide from a child—less from an adult child who would have grown up hearing my stories."

"I can reciprocate. I know you're close to the sheriff's department in Absaroka. I'll email you my numbers if you want, so that your friend can run me, access my service record."

"You served in the military?"

"I did. I was medically discharged two years ago. There was a fire and I was damaged. I'm well on the way to recovery now, but at the time I was deemed unfit for further service."

"What branch?"

"Coast Guard."

He snorted.

"Now, now, we, too, serve, who bring home the lost."

"Yes. Serve. But it's not the military."

She was quiet. He didn't know she'd stuck her tongue out at the phone. He'd learn it soon enough.

"Why are you at the Department of Interior?"

"It was a job. I type well. I file well. I needed something to segue into civilian life. Government employ is enough like the military bullshit to breach that gap."

"If you could do anything in the world what would it be?"

"You'll not like the sound of this—but I'd take a crappy old bar and open it for lunchtime. Somewhere you could come get a great sandwich and soup and have a beer or a glass of wine with it. Nowhere around here does that. It's either a lunch counter and closes at dark—no alcohol. Or it's a bar that opens later in the day with typical fried bar food at the most."

"Why did you think I would not like to hear it."

"Two reasons: it sounds like a copy of your dream. And because you have a right to think your way of running your bar is correct enough. I'm not telling you to change."

"I started that a long time ago. I am open most of the day. And I serve my entire menu anytime I am open."

"Hmmm."

"What?"

"Nothing."

"My friend, Walt Longmire, Sheriff of Absaroka County, no doubt is running your phone number and what information he has regarding your name and address now. He got here almost as soon as the mail did."

"He'll be suspicious and disappointed. It's a pre-paid mobile and I opened the PO box in Laramie as a precaution."

"As a precaution?"

"I'm suspicious of nature and one of the most un-trusting souls ever to hike the Badlands. If the letter was to be intercepted or you turned out to be disreputable I'm not out anything and you have no way to track me."

"What is your Crow grandmother's family name?"

"I have no idea. I can get it!"

She sounded stoked as she started pushing and piling and shuffling.

"You mistrust me with your correct phone number and address, but you're willing to send me your family history?" he asked.

"I'm very Gemini. I was born under the ficklest of moons in the middle of June." She thought for a moment. "When I wrote that letter I had moments of disquiet. I sealed it and stamped it and put it in my purse so I'd send it immediately. Then I let it sit for a while. I became uncertain. Now I'm okay again. And grateful. It took four days for that talisman to reach you. Tell me what my mother felt when you gave it to her."

"Afraid. Surprised. I was worldly. I don't think she expected me to ask her to marry me. To ask her to stay and build a life with me. I wanted forever from her. I wanted sunshines and windstorms and to get snowed in so we could make love. And I wanted the small ones—lots of small ones to lavish my attention on. My best friend had a very young daughter then. I wanted my own. And I wanted her."

"You broke her persona of you."

"It seemed I did. She took my necklace, gave me no definitive answer, then bade me keep my silence while she thought. I made love to her carelessly—I thought she'd be my wife within just a few weeks, months at the most—and woke the next day in my bed alone. I never saw her again."

"My grandmother was Marian Black Leaf. Her mother was Anna Dawn Coyote. I don't know if Dawn is part of the surname. My great grandfather is Robert Black Leaf. He was decorated."

"Indeed he was. I know of both family names. It is Dawn Coyote. Not a popular name with the Cheyenne here."

"How did the Cheyenne end up with a reservation closest to the county named for the Crow Tribe's name for itself?"

"History has a way of making its own jokes, little one."

"I'm not little, Pappi. I'm six feet tall in my bare feet."

"Your mother was tiny—dainty."

"Yep. I was a constant amazement to her."

"How did she die?"

"She drank too much. Made bad decisions. And wrapped her car around a tree one night at four in the morning."

He was quiet. "When was this?"

"We buried her a little over a month ago."

"Tragic."

"Yes. I'm getting over the romance of it, though, as I dig through her personal effects. She was a selfish child when she met you. Her ways did not improve. She trapped a man into marriage as soon as she returned home—Oliver McDoughal—by arranging for their tryst to be interrupted by her father. My grandfather was his commanding officer. I was born seven months to the date after their elopement. He had the good sense to be killed in a peacekeeping mission in Bosnia."

"In your letter you said he hated you."

"None of my family is tall. None of his is tall. They, like my mother, tend to be fair-to-ruddy with curly hair. There are blondes, blue eyes, red heads of every shade, and a few paler spectrum brunettes on his side. My grandfather is very Irish looking. My grandmother had plain brown hair and fairly pale skin. Completely European bone structure. I remember her getting very tan in the summertime, but that was it. My mother—you know my mother was tan, but it wasn't necessarily red skinned. Her eyes held some exotic tilt like her mother's. Both of them had green eyes. Mine are hazel. More brown, really, and I'd be pigeonholed as an extra squaw in every B movie Hollywood made."

"Beautiful, then," he assured her.

"I wasn't his. He knew it. She knew it. And my grandmother told my mother once that I was not featured as the Crow Nation should be. My mother blamed increasingly complex genetics."

"Crow and Cheyenne have very distinctive faces. Whites might say all Indians look the same; we do not."

"So it seems."

"I'm 6'3."

"I saw that in your file."

"My parents would have loved you."

"You don't know that. You don't know me. I could steal cars or swindle old people out of their retirement funds."

There was a laugh in her voice.

"I do know this to be true. You would have been their only grandchild. You are my only child. And I hear so much in your words that you do not say. So many truths. Some off-colour humor that would have fit in very well with my family."

"I'm sorry. You sound sad."

"Sad. Hurt. Confused. But proud. You are twenty-three years old?"

"I am. For now."

"And you have timed out your birth to know that you would have been conceived the September after your mother finished her masters."

"High school. She should have been at Central Wyoming when she was with you. Her grades weren't that good and her parents wanted her to try small-town life for a while. So she'd stay out of trouble."

He was quiet.

"She was eighteen when I was born."

More silence.

"Still there?"

"I am here. I am digesting this information. Do you know how old I was in fall of 1985?"

She laughed. It sounded like delight to him. "Yup. I told you she was too young for you."

"She did not seem seventeen."

"So I hear. If it makes you feel better, when she was in her late twenties she still acted like a teenager."

"You have no idea. She was already an accomplished bartender when I hired her-"

"Trust me. When it comes to my mother, I have no doubts. She was far more experienced than any teenager had a right to be. I think part of it was the military life. She taught me to mix drinks with her after _Cocktail_ came out. I was her parlor trick.

"I think, in her way, she loved you."

His new bartender came in and began making noise. Someone came in and spoke quietly to her. He had a lot of information to digest, so he closed the conversation, promising to answer when she called back later after he'd given her his email address so she could send him pictures and her information.


	3. MOVING ALWAYS FORWARD

The IR jeep pulled them over just inside the Rez.

"May I help you, officer?" Bear answered as his daughter handed over the driver's license, insurance card, and registration she'd already pulled out.

"Going a bit too fast there," Mathias smiled. He looked again at the young woman, then at the older man. He didn't wonder anymore how the guy managed—he did, though.

When he glanced back down he caught the smile. His gut filled with lust. And something warmer, more uncomfortable. He quickly returned his attention to the paperwork she'd given him.

"Brand new to Wyoming?" he asked. The date on the registration was the same as that of the temporary license she'd gotten from the county. Yesterday. And the surname was that of the man seated beside him.

"My daughter has decided to try life here in the West," Bear stated.

"I see that." The grin broke out when he caught the similarities in the smiles. Her eyes were friendlier. World-weary, too.

He dug out a business card. Wrote his cell on it as well as the office numbers.

"Glad to have you. If you need anything—if anybody gives you a hard time and your Dad's not around, you call me, okay?" He handed everything back. "And slow waaay the hell down on my roads."

Her nose wrinkled as the smile moved into a true grin. It nearly killed him to walk away.

"Damn. It is not every day you get out of a ticket from the chief of res police."

"Shut up."

She waved as the cop pulled partially onto the road, blocking the non-existent traffic, then gestured for her to enter first. She was fairly relieved when he did a full u turn and headed the other direction.

"Does he live on the rez?"

"He does. The Cheyenne Nation is sovereign unto itself. We have our own council government, our own policing force, and we make and maintain laws following a traditional way of life."

"But also pursuant of those of the state and federal governments. This is true. We are very much our own municipality."

She glanced in her mirror again.

The back of her car was full of her most precious things. She was starting over. Which was fine. She'd done it before. She'd spent most of her time in the Coast Guard off of Astoria, Oregon in an apartment off base, so she'd needed little help with furniture when she'd gotten out. Her stuff had easily stored in her grandparents' house, where her mother had moved after their passing. Once she'd gone to work for the state & relocated her belongings to another apartment she'd made an effort to clean out and go through all the crap they'd accumulated in their long marriage. Some things she'd had professionally boxed & stored; some she'd trashed. She'd made a small fortune on eBay with some of the stuff that held no interest or sentimental value. Once her mom had passed she'd managed to really make headway. It was with great relief that she signed the paperwork transferring ownership of that house to the nice young couple with three small boys. Hopefully they'd be able to infuse new life & lightness to the home.

Her lifestyle had always been minimal. She wasn't a clothes horse, although she liked having nice things and boots and shoes had always been a weakness. She believed that old adage that it was better to save up for one nice, classic piece than to buy many cheaper versions. Books had once threatened to overrun her, and some of her favorites were still with her, but by-and-large she'd moved to the electronic readers. Her first upgrade to the property her father had shown her was a dish so that she could use her laptop. The installation guy had shaken his head and wondered about the wind and the weather. That gave her a little pause.

"Why didn't you offer me part of the land you own?" she asked suddenly.

"Would you now rather live in my home?"

"No. I think we're close enough."

He smiled and ruffled her hair. "That we are. It was a good find."

"We could have fit another building on your property."

"But this way you have yours, which you need. And I have mine. And there is space enough for privacy. Which you insisted upon. And I appreciate. And still the distance is not so great as to be a burden."

"We're seven scrawny trees away from each other. I can see your back porch from my kitchen window."

"Perfect, is it not?"

She smiled.

"I bought you a present."

"A swimming pool?"

She was looking into putting in an infinity pool. Her father assured her that if she had internet and a pool the local children would think she was Santa Claus.

"No."

She pondered anew the solution to the fact that she really, really badly missed swimming. She didn't want to endanger the children who would flock to her yard. And she didn't want to come in and start building fences.

"I'll think of something," her father said, gently touching her arm. It wasn't much of a challenge to discern the cause of her sudden frown.

"I'm thinking about just putting in a hot tub on my patio. That way the cover keeps critters out but I still get water at hand. There are public pools kind of close-ish. And the rivers and streams. I won't go into withdrawal."

"I told you, we will see what we can come up with. In the meantime-"

"It isn't a dog, is it?"

She wasn't ready for a dog. She liked them, but she professed not to have the time or energy for one. And worried about it getting lost or lonely while she worked.

"No. No dog." Not until Christmas, anyway. She looked longingly at every hound or retriever she passed. She discussed training techniques with everyone who owned them. And she wasn't alone anymore. There were people who could help her with he/she/it/them if she wanted to travel. Plus she was pretty tight with the guy who owned the bar where she would be working, so having to leave it to languish by itself became a non-issue.

She sighed. "Artwork?" she asked hopefully.

"No. You are out of guesses. Now you will just have to wait and see."

"The dog thing shouldn't count as a guess."

"Neither should the pool since those are hard to hide and even harder to get a bow around. But that is where you went with it."


End file.
